If I were to be compared to the expectations of the world
I would simply be a toy.
Not any normal, high demanded Barbie
But an old forgotten Raggedy Anne.
Sure, it’s true that someone out there must still love such a doll.
But where are they when the poor doll loses its value?
Its beauty?
It’s collector’s touch?
They let it go, forget it, put it either back on the shelf or leave it on the floor
Collecting dust and withering away slowly
All just waiting for the next kid to pick it up and show it love for a little while
All until that child grows bored. Then the process repeats.
Except with each one, not being made of plastic, my seams begin to give.
My fabrics falling apart, my yarn beginning to frizz
Quite an unapealing look.
One that will eventually be thrown out.
And not long after is she forgotten…..
And that’s how a girl’s heart works when she ends up with the wrong guys.
The little boys playing and fantasizing over toys.
But, there are men out there too, just I’m too blind to spot them...